Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Light cuts across my eyelids, hazy at first, then piercing. I squint, blink, still half-caught in sleep. My body stretches before my thoughts do, a smile pulling at my lips. I feel good. Well-rested.
Then it hits.
This isn’t my bed. I jolt upright. I’m not back in Merrin. This isn’t even the beach-house we’re renting.
Carson’s.
The spot beside me glares empty, but worse is the sunlight pouring over it like a spotlight. Bright. Too bright. A glance at the clock confirms it.
1:03 p.m.
I grab my phone, but the panic fades when I glimpse the screen. No missed calls, no messages. Thank God. My parents don’t need another excuse to hound me.
Still… how did I sleep this long? Nightmares usually keep me ragged, two hours here, a handful of minutes there, but this time was different. Carson’s arms around me, his chest a metronome against my back, and then… nothing. Just sleep.
Damn it, I almost don’t want to leave this bed. It’s like a fortress in cotton, but I have to. Where’s Carson?
He’s not in the bathroom. Not downstairs, either. I know, because after rinsing my face and tugging on clothes that smell like yesterday, I head that way. The only person I find is Dylan.
He’s at the counter, watching a smoothie churn circles in the blender. When his eyes lift, I falter. Like I’m suddenly all-too-aware of the creases in my shirt, the kinks in my hair.
Dylan’s nothing but laidback. “Smoothie?” he offers, like me creeping down the stairs is an everyday occurrence.
The refusal is on the tip of my tongue, but I let it dissolve, matching his casual instead. Why not? It delays the trip back.
As Dylan pours, my eyes drift toward the back deck. I must not be subtle, because without looking up he says, “They’re all on the beach.”
Oh.
Right.
Carson too?
I don’t ask. I only nod, clinging to the quiet of the kitchen. It’s a relief, really, that the house is nearly empty. That it’s Dylan here, not someone else. He doesn’t pry. Never has.
Not that there’s anything to pry into. Anyone with working eyes can see there’s nothing between Carson and me. Nothing like that.
My stomach gives a hunger pang and I’m glad for the cold rush of the smoothie Dylan slides over.
“You know,” he starts, tilting his head like he’s testing a thought, “one thing about Carson, he keeps a lot close to the chest. You’re the same in that way.”
“I don’t—”
The look he levels me with strips the denial before it’s even born.
He swirls his glass. “Difference is, Carson wears his heart on his sleeve. Sometimes it’s not about what he says, it’s about what he doesn’t.”
Heat rises under my collar, and it’s not because of the sunlight spilling in. “Dylan, we didn’t—nothing happened with—”
“I know.”
“Then why tell me this?” Why talk in riddles like I’m supposed to crack the code that is Carson Eli?
“I want you to know.”
“Know what?”
“That he cares.” A pause, softer. “He always has.”
The stillness in the beach house hits me first, followed by the barest release of breath. Relief. They’re not here.
I drift to the kitchen and snag the first thing my hand lands on. It’s new, this hunger. The first real tug I’ve felt in a long time. Maybe it’s because I actually slept. Maybe it’s because, for once, I feel something close to okay.
I still can’t believe I managed to sleep at all. The last thing I remember is Carson. And then… nothing. Lights out.
Honestly, if that’s the only way I’ll get real rest, I’d beg to sleep in those arms again.
If it were anyone other than Carson, that is.
Although as I walk up the stairs, Dylan’s words keep rattling in my head, turning over and over. Then they freeze, because I freeze.
The house isn’t empty.
My mother is at the top of the landing. She sees me the same instant I see her, and we both stop, suspended, like time folds in half.
For a few seconds, it’s nothing but staring. My hair feels heavier than it should, every strand too short, too dark, too loud. Like it’s daring her to speak. I wait.
But nothing comes. Only her pivot as she disappears into a room as if she didn’t see me.
Her exit pulls another figure out. My father. His brows are pinched like he’s ready to face something terrible—until it’s only me. Then he stops. Dead still. His hand rises to the back of his neck, but unlike her, his gaze roves. Over my hair, my face, all of me.
“Hey… uh.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “You look… different.” A beat. “New hair?”
“Yeah.”
That’s all he asks on the topic. “So, Grove’s hosting a carnival this weekend. You should go. Seems like fun.”
“Yeah… I will. Aspen—my friend—mentioned it yesterday.”
“Good, good. Have fun, okay?”
And that’s it. He’s gone too.